My friends in New York State will most likely laugh at me but the last few nights I've been cold. When I went out in the cool morning today, I drove past the field of cows near my house and thought about my childhood at Minuet Farm in Wappingers Falls, NY.
My father and mother owned a 24-acre farm which was just the right size for my family's needs during our growing-up years in the 1950s. My father worked full time at IBM in the plating department and took care of the animals and garden early mornings, evenings and weekends and my mother was a stay-at-home mom for many years as they raised their 3 children and provided a home for my maternal grandmother and grandfather. Once my father retired, my mother went to work full time.
We had one milk cow named Chancey and usually 2 Black Angus calves each year (1 for us and 1 for my cousin). There are many many stories about those days but with the chilly weather, one jumps to mind.
Our house was about a quarter mile and a steep hill from the barn. My father spoiled his cows terribly. He almost never got to eat his dinner all at one time. Most nights he would get half way through dinner before we'd hear pitiful mooing from the barnyard. Chancey was uncomfortable and wanted to be let in and milked. My father would leave his dinner and head to the barn to let Chancey in and milk her. Looking back on it now, I wonder why he didn't just let her in and milk her before dinner.
The winter had its own issues. Our cows were indeed spoiled; they did not like cold water and, of course, that's all that was available at the spigot outside the barn. So, my father, being the dear, kind man he was, would carry buckets of warm water from the house to the barn every winter day for the cows. I don't remember if he did that twice a day or only in the evening. I just really remember the day he had to come back and refill his buckets before he made it to the barn. He had slipped in the snow while he walked down the steep hill and fell spilling the water and creating a big icy spot. No complaints from him that I remember. He just filled those buckets with more warm water and headed back out to provide warm water for his cows. I think Chancey appreciated him because she gave us 8 quarts of milk in the morning and 8 quarts of milk each night which kept my mother busy pasteurizing milk, making butter, and the other things you do with milk and cream.
Sometimes when the weather was decent my brothers and I would go out in the barnyard and play with the young Black Angus calves. I think the cows enjoyed it as much as we did. As the calves grew, occasionally they would get a little more rambunctious than we were comfortable with so we'd jump in the watering trough until things calmed down a bit. As kids, we enjoyed our cows and, when the Black Angus calves were close to a year old, we ate them! That brings a whole new meaning to "don't play with your food."
There are many more memories and you may see them all before I am through. So, hang in there!
Blessings,
Mary
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